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Canadian poets and poetry (1901)
by Thomas O'Hagan '' '''Canada '''has a goodly number of inspired singers whose strong, fresh notes in the academic groves of song are steadily winning the ear and heart of an increasing multitude. Overview These chanters of Canadian lays, these prophets of the people, sing in various keys — some catching up in their song the glory and spirit of the world without, some weaving in ballad a recital of the bold adventures and heroic achievements of the early missionary explorer and pioneer, while others with heart and lips of fire are stirring in the national breast of "Young Canada " fairer visions and dreams of patriotism and promise. The note of all these singers is individual — indigenous. Their songs are racy of the soil, charged with the very life-blood of the people, reflecting their courage, their toil, their suffering, and the heroic deeds that illumine the pages of our country's history. Nor is there anything of pessimism in Canadian poetry. It is full-blooded, hearty, healthy and hopeful in its tone. The Canadian pioneer who entered the virgin forest in the twilight days of civilization brought with him a stout and resolute heart, ready to front every danger and bear up under every deprivation and loss. Older School This lineage of courage is manifest in Canadian song. Alexander McLachlan, who is justly called the Burns of Canada, breathes it into his tender and melodious lines. This venerable poet, who passed away in 1896, in his early days experienced life in the backwoods of Canada, and many of his finest lyrics find their root of inspiration in scenes and incidents peculiar to roughing it in the woods. It is not to be wondered at, then, that the heroism of our fathers in the forest gave soil to a spirit of heroism in Canadian poetry, and that the wholesome virtues of honesty, uprightness, industry and good cheer find reflection in the life interpretation of our people. The links that bind in song the Canadian poets of to-day with the old and honored choir that chanted in the dawn of Canadian life and letters, are, year by year, breaking and disappearing. Pierre Chauveau, universally recognized as one of the most accomplished of French Canadian literati; Charles Sangster, the Canadian Wordsworth in his reverence and love of nature; Charles Heavysege, whose great scriptural tragedy ''Saul was considered by Longfellow to be "the best tragedy written since the days of Shakspere" ; and Louisa Murray, the author of "Merlin's Cave," a poem characterized by great beauty of thought and diction — all these have heard within a few years the whisperings of death and have stolen away. The younger Canadian poets of to-day revere these names as the pioneers of Canadian letters — song-birds of the dawn — minstrels whose harps cheered the patriot firesides of the early Canadian settler. They had for contemporaries in American poetry Bryant, Longfellow, Lowell, Whittier and Holmes; but the labor of their achievement as first colonizers of literature in Canada entitles them to be ranked rather as contemporaries of Irving, Willis, Halleck and Poe. Younger School Now as to the spirit and methods of the older and younger schools of Canadian poetry. Scholarship, refinement, a keen appreciation of the artistic, with a certain boldness of wing, mark the performances of the Canadian singer of to-day. He puts into his workmanship more of Keats and Tennyson and Swinburne, but less of Scott and Wordsworth and Burns, than did the poets of the older school. He has drunk copiously from classical fountains — from the clear streams of Theocritus, and Moschus, and the other idyllic and nature-loving poets of Greece. He pitches his song in a higher and less homely key than did his elder brothers of the lyre; sings of nature in round and graceful notes, and reads the throbbing promise of his country's future in the glorious light of her eyes. Broadly and deeply sympathetic, he has but one altar in his heart, and this is dedicated to the service of his native land. The imperial note in his song, which is but a grace note, marks the ties of love and reverence which bind him to the motherland — the Canadian note, strong and full, the patriotic service of chivalrous knighthood demanded of him at the sacred shrine of Duty and Country. Prophet that he is, he sees that the spirit of national development in Canada must go on — that it is widening and deepening — that the aspirations of this land of "the true North" have their roots down deep in the life-blood of a people with well-nigh three centuries of conquest and triumph lighting up the history of their past. This he feels to be the gospel of the throbbing hour, this he knows to be the burden of the people's hopes. And so the dominant note in the songs of the Canadian poets of to-day is one of ardent patriotism. Charles G.D. Roberts One of the chief of this young and promising band of singers is Charles G.D. Roberts, the author of five volumes of verse, each packed full of rich poetic thought. Roberts has also written the best patriotic poem (" Canada ") that has yet been produced in this country, while the general character of his workmanship is of such high order as to gain for him a large audience on both sides of the Atlantic. He is truly a virile writer, and possesses in an eminent degree that even wedding of thought and language so essential to the production of a first-rate poem. A little more simplicity and directness and somewhat less of classical form and method in his verse would, however, make Roberts more popular with the common people. Here is one of his poems which well illustrates the patriotic note in his verse. It is entitled "An Ode for the Canadian Confederacy": "An Ode for the Canadian Confederacy" Awake, my country, the hour is great with change! Under this gloom which yet obscures the land. From ice-blue strait and stern Laurentian range To where giant peaks our western bounds command, A deep voice stirs, vibrating in men's ears As if their own hearts throbbed that thunder forth, A sound wherein who hearkens wisely hears The voice of the desire of this strong North, — This North whose heart of fire Yet knows not its desire Clearly, but dreams, and murmurs in the dream. The hour of dreams is done. Lo, on the hills the gleam! Awake, my country, the hour of dreams is done! Doubt not, nor dread the greatness of thy fate. Tho' faint souls fear the keen confronting sun, And fain would bid the morn of splendor wait ; Tho' dreamers, rapt in starry visions, cry, 'Lo, yon thy future, yon thy faith, thy fame!' And stretch vain hands to stars, thy fame is nigh. Here in Canadian hearth, and home, and name; — This name which yet shall grow Till all the nations know Us for a patriot people, heart and hand Loyal to our native earth, our own Canadian land! O strong hearts, guarding the birthright of our glory. Worth your best blood this heritage that ye guard! These mighty streams resplendent with our story. These iron coasts by rage of seas unjarred, — What fields of peace these bulwarks will secure! What vales of plenty those calm floods supply! Shall not our love this rough, sweet land make sure, Her bounds preserve inviolate, though we die? O strong hearts of the North, Let flame your loyalty forth, And put the craven and base to an open shame, Till earth shall know the Child of Nations by her name! Roberts has published the following volumes of verse: Orion, and Other Poems, In Divers Tones, Ave: An Ode for the Shelley Centenary, Songs of the Common Day, The Book of the Native, and New York Nocturnes. A collective volume of his poems is to be published during the present year. William Wilfred Campbell One of the most original and bold among the younger Canadian poets of to-day — daring in his flights of song — is William Wilfred Campbell, best known as " The Poet of the Lakes." Campbell has a fine sense of color and form, and many of his lake lyrics catch up and embody in their lines the spirit of ever-changing hues, subtle and weird, that broods over the waters of our great Canadian lakes. It was not, however, the lake lyrics which brought Campbell most renown, but a unique poem, entitled " The Mother," which first appeared in a New York magazine in the spring of 1891. This poem was regarded by capable critics as one of the most remarkable poems that had appeared from an American pen for a great many years. Campbell shows at times great strength, and possesses resources of melody which might well be matched against the best music of Shelley or Swinburne. The following poem, taken from Lake Lyrics, will give the reader a hint as to the spirit and method of Campbell's work. It is entitled " Manitou," which is the largest island in Lake Huron, believed by the Indians to be sacred to Manitou when he makes his abode on earth. Do not the melody and manner of this poem at once call up Swinburne's "Forsaken Garden"? "Manitou" Girdled by Huron's throbbing and thunder Out on the drift and lift of its blue; Walled by mists from the world asunder, Far from all hate and passion and wonder, Lieth the isle of the Manitou. Here, where the surfs of the great lake trample. Thundering time-worn caverns through. Beating on rock-coasts aged and ample, Reareth the Manitou's mist-walled temple. Floored with forest and roofed with blue. Gray crag-battlements, seared and broken, Keep these passes for ages to come ; Never a watchword here is spoken. Never a single sign or token. From hands that are motionless, lips that are dumb. Only the Sun-god rideth over. Marking the seasons with track of flame; Only the wild-fowl float and hover, — Flocks of clouds whose white wings cover Spaces on spaces without a name. Stretches of marsh and wild lake meadow. Beaches that bend to the edge of the world; Morn and even, suntime and shadow. Wild flame of sunset over far meadow. Fleets of white vapors sun-kissed and furled. Year by year the ages onward Drift, but it lieth out here alone; Earthward the mists, and the earth-mists sunward, Starward the days, and the nights bloom dawnward. Whisper the forests, the beaches make moan. Far from the world and its passions fleeting, 'Neath quiet of noonday and stillness of star, Shore unto shore each sendeth greeting. Where the only woe is the surf's wild beating That throbs from the maddened lake afar. Campbell has done some of his best work in the dramatic field. His two dramas, "Mordred" and " Hildebrand," published in 1895, give evidence that it may be in this department of literature our gifted young Canadian will yet attain his greatest success. One thing is certain, that Campbell has not yet reached his full poetic strength, his last book, Beyond the Hills of Dream, being far in advance of his other volumes in poetic merit. His other published volumes are: Snowflakes and Sunbeams, Lake Lyrics The Dread Voyage, and Mordred and Hildebrand. Campbell's friends have noticed with distinct pleasure that his later work is informed with a more optimistic spirit — more of the sunlight of heaven — than characterized much of his earlier verse, particularly that found in his second volume, The Dread Voyage. Archibald Lampman The late Archibald Lampman published his first book of poems Among the Millet in 1888, and the quality of that volume secured for the author at once a high place among the younger poets of Canada. Lampman was an artist in every sense of the word, and as you read his polished productions you feel sure that he made Tennyson his master. It is not known how long it took the author of Among the Millet to give a setting to a single gem of thought in the workshop of his mind, but one is pretty certain that it must have been the labor of weeks, not days. Like his master, Tennyson, he owed much of his excellence to a keen sense and exquisite enjoyment of every species of beauty. His was a finely-tuned organization, capable of being touched by the most delicate shades and tones of external nature. If Lampman had any marked fault it was the tendency to dwell too long upon a given note. This tends to reveal in him too much of the artist and not enough of the poet. His work, however, was conscientious and his ideals high, and it is doubtful if any other Canadian poet has written as many poems of such even excellence. This extract from a poem, entitled "Sebastian," which the author read at a meeting of the Royal Society of Canada, may give some insight into the spirit and character of Lampman's workmanship : from "Sebastian" Outside the wide waste waters gleam. The sun Beats hot upon the roofs, and close at hand The heavy river o'er its fall of rocks Roars down in foam and spouted spray, and pounds Its bed with solid thunder. Far away Stretch the gray glimmering booms that pen the logs, — Brown multitudes that from the northern waste Have come by many a rushing stream, — and now The river shepherds with their spiked poles Herd them in flocks, and drive them like blind sheep Unto the slaughterer's hand. Here in the mills. Dim and low-roofed, cool with the scent of pines And gusts from off the windy cataracts, All day the crash and clamor shake the floors. The immense chains move slowly on. All day The pitiless saws creep up the dripping logs With champ and sullen roar ; or, round and shrill, A glittering fury of invisible teeth. Yell through the clacking boards. Sebastian turns A moment's space, and through the great square door Beholds as in a jarred and turbulent dream The waste of logs and the long running crest Of plunging water; farther still, beyond The openings of the piered and buttressed bridge. The rapid flashing into foam; and last Northward, far drawn, above the misty shore. The pale blue cloud-line of the summer hills. So stands Sebastian, and with quiet eyes. Wrapt forehead, and lips manfully closed, Sees afar off, and through the heat and roar, Beyond the jostling shadows and the throng; Skirts the cool borders of an ampler world. Decking the hour with visions. Yet his hands, Grown sure and clock-like at their practised task. Are not forgetful. Up the shaken slides With splash and thunder come the groaning logs. Sebastian grasps his cant-dog with light strength. Drives into their dripping sides its iron fangs, And one by one as with a giant's ease Turns them and sets them toward the crashing saws. So all day long and half the weary night The mills roar on, the logs come shouldering in, And the fierce light glares on the downward blades, And the huge logs, and the wild crowd of men. Through every hole and crack, through all the doors, A stream upon the solid dark, it lights The black, smooth races and the glimmering booms. And turns the river's spouted spray to silver. Lampman's published volumes, in addition to Among the Millet, are: Lyrics of Earth, and a complete edition of his poems, bearing the title, Lampman's Poems edited, with a beautiful memoir of the late poet, by his friend, Duncan Campbell Scott. Duncan Campbell Scott There are two Canadian poets who bear the name of Scott — Duncan Campbell and Frederick George. Both have done good work, though the spirit and method of the two are quite distinct. Duncan Campbell Scott has a delicate and refined touch and a quaintness and fancy all his own. He never beats out the ore of his thought too fine, but links jewel to jewel with an artistic skill which gives surety of the highest form of workmanship. He is very successful in French-Canadian themes, and is probably at his best in such a poem as the following, which is a graphic picture of the dangers attending rafting : "At the Cedars" You had two girls, Baptiste, One is Virginie — Hold hard, Baptiste, Listen to me. The whole drive was jammed In that bend at the Cedars; The rapids were dammed With the logs, tight rammed And crammed; you might know The devil had clinched them below. We worked three days — not a budge 'She's as tight as a wedge On the ledge,' Says our foreman. 'Mon Dieu! boys, look here; We must get this thing clear.' He cursed at the men. And we went for it then, With our cant-dogs arow; We just gave 'he ho he,' When she gave a big shove From above. The gang yelled, and tore For the shore; The logs gave a grind, Like a wolf's jaws behind. And as quick as a flash. With a shove and a crash. They went down in a mash. But I, and ten more. All but Isaac Dufour, Were ashore. He leaped on a log in front of the rush, And shot out from the bind, While the jam roared behind; As he floated along He balanced his pole, And tossed us a song; But just as we cheered, Up darted a log from the bottom, Leaped thirty feet, fair and square, And came down on his own. He went up like a block, With a shock; And when he was there In the air Kissed his hand To the land. When he dropped My heart stopped, For the first logs had caught him. And crushed him; When he rose in his place There was blood on his face. There were some girls, Baptiste, Picking berries on the hill-side, Where the river curls, Baptiste, You know — on the still side; One was down by the water; She saw Isakc Fall back. She didn't scream, Baptiste; She launched her canoe,— It did seem, Baptiste, That she wanted to die, too; For before you could think, The birch cracked like a shell In that rush of hell, And I saw them both sink — Baptiste!! He had two girls, One is Virginie; What God calls the other Is not known to me. Scott has published two books of poems: The Magic House, which appeared in 1893, and Labor and the Angel in 1898. Frederick George Scott Rev. Frederick George Scott is a poet of great spirituality, much earnestness, sinewy strength, and a certain boldness of conception which borders at times on the sublime. His second volume of verse, My Lattice, contains a poem, "Samson," which has brought its author much fame. The London Speaker, a high literary authority, considers it the best American poem that has been published for years. In justice to the author the whole poem is given here, as no extract would properly and adequately represent its sublime spirit and character : "Samson" Plunged in night, I sit alone. Eyeless, on this dungeon stone. Naked, shaggy, and unkempt. Dreaming dreams no soul hath dreamt. Rats and vermin round my feet Play unharmed, companions sweet ; Spiders weave me overhead Silken curtains for my bed. Day by day the mould I smell Of this fungus-blistered cell ; Nightly in my haunted sleep O'er my face the lizards creep. Gyves of iron scrape and burn Wrists and ankles when I turn, And my collared neck is raw With the teeth of brass that gnaw. God of Israel, canst Thou see All my fierce captivity ? Do Thy sinews feel my pains ? Hearest Thou the clanking chains ? Thou who madest me so fair, Strong and buoyant as the air, Tall and noble as a tree, With the passions of the sea, Swift as horse upon my feet. Fierce as lion in my heat, Rending, like a wisp of hay All that dared withstand my way, — Canst Thou see me through the gloom Of this subterranean tomb — Blinded tiger in his den. Once the lord and prince of men ? Clay was I; the potter, Thou With Thy thumb-nail smooth'dst my brow, RoU'dst the spittle-moistened sands Into limbs between Thy hands. Thou didst pour into my blood Fury of the fire and flood, And upon the boundless skies Thou didst first unclose my eyes. And my breath of life was flame : God-like from the source it came, Whirling round, like furious wind. Thoughts upgathered in the mind. Strong Thou mad'st me, till at length All my weakness was my strength ; Tortured am I, blind and wrecked, For a faulty architect. From the woman at my side Was I, woman-like, to hide What she asked me, as if fear Could my iron heart come near ? Nay, I scorned, and scorn again. Cowards who their tongues restrain ; Cared I no more for Thy laws Than a wind of scattered straws. When the earth quaked at my name. And my blood was all aflame. Who was I to lie, and cheat Her who clung about my feet ? From Thy open nostrils blow Wind and tempest, rain and snow; Dost Thou curse them, on their course, For the fury of their force ? Tortured am I, wracked and bowed, But the soul within is proud; Dungeon fetters cannot still Forces of the tameless will. Israel's God, come down and see All my fierce captivity; Let Thy sinews feel my pains, With Thy fingers lift my chains. Then with thunder loud and wild Comfort Thou Thy rebel child. And with lightning split in twain Loveless heart and sightless brain. Give me splendor in my death — Not this sickening dungeon breath. Creeping down my blood like slime. Till it wastes me in my prime. Give me back for one blind hour Half my former rage and power; And some giant crisis send. Meet to prove a hero's end. Then, O God, Thy mercy show - Crush him in the overthrow At whose life they scorn and point, By its greatness out of joint. Perhaps, however, the form of verse in which the genius of Frederick George Scott has excelled many of his poetic brethren is that of the sonnet. If ever there is a volume of Cana- dian sonnets compiled, the strong and artistic work of our author in this department should re- ceive full recognition. Frederick George Scott has published in all four volumes of poems : The Soul's Quest, My Lattice, The Unnamed Lake, and Poems Old and New. Charles Mair In the form of poetic composition known as the drama the names of Charles Heavysege, Louis Frechette, John Hunter Duvar and Charles Mair hold the first places of honor. Heavysege's " Saul, as has been already stated, is a scriptural tragedy, while the dramas written by the other three are based chiefly upon Canadian historical incidents. Mair's Tecumseh presents a faithful study of Indian character and is of undoubted historical value. Considered as a closet drama it certainly is worthy of a place among the best works of its kind by New World writers. Bliss Carman Bliss Carman, a kinsman of Roberts, is another gifted singer generally regarded as one of the strongest of our Canadian poets. In reading Carman's poems one feels something of a Scandinavian influence at work. This, of course, may be merely a fancy, as Carman has no kinship by blood with the land of the Vikings. His best work is marked by great strength, a restrained impetuosity, and an imagination clear and impressive. It has been charged by some critics that Carman's poems have about them a certain obscurity ; but it is just possible that this credited want of clearness rests in the mind of the critic, not the author. One thing is certain, that his poetry is not obscured by too many words, but by too few; which is not a very bad fault in this age of loose thought and idle verbiage. Carman has written so much virile poetry that one is at a loss to know what to quote to give the reader an idea of the strength and gift of his pen. His poem, "Death in April," is generally regarded as the finest thing he has ever written. Some of Carman's most marked characteristics as a poet are to be found in "Low Tide on Grand-Pre." Here it is: "Low Tide on Grand-Pre" The sun goes down, and over all These barren reaches by the tide Such unelusive glories fall, I almost dream they yet will bide Until the coming of the tide. And yet I know that not for us, By any ecstasy of dream, He lingers to keep luminous A little while the grievous stream. Which frets, uncomforted of dream, — A grievous stream, that to and fro Athrough the fields of Acadie Goes wandering, as if to know Why one beloved face should be So long from home and Acadie! Was it a year, or lives ago. We took the grasses in our hands. And caught the summer flying low Over the waving meadow lands, And held it there between our hands? The while the river at our feet — A drowsy inland meadow stream — At set of sun the after-heat Made running gold, and in the gleam We freed our birch upon the stream. There down along the elms at dusk We lifted dripping blade to drift. Through twilight scented fine like musk. Where night and gloom awhile uplift. Nor sunder soul and soul adrift. And that we took into our hands — Spirit of life or subtler thing — Breathed on us there, and loosed the bands Of death, and taught us, whispering, The secret of some wonder-thing. Then all your face grew light, and seemed To hold the shadow of the sun; The evening faltered, and I deemed That time was ripe, and years had done Their wheeling underneath the sun. So all desire and all regret, And fear and memory, were naught; One to remember, or forget The keen delight our hands had caught ; Morrow and yesterday were naught! The night has fallen, and the tide Now and again comes drifting home, Across these aching barrens wide, A sigh like driven wind or foam : In grief the flood is bursting home. Bliss Carman has published 8 volumes of verse: Low Tide on Grand Pre, Songs from Vagabondia, A Seamark: Threnody for Robert Louis Stevenson, Behind the Arras, More Songs from Vagabondia, Ballads of Lost Haven, By the Aurelian Wall, and Last Songs from Vagabondia. The three volumes of Songs from Vagabondia were written in collaboration with Richard Hovey. Arthur J. Lockhart Rev. Arthur J. Lockhart is known as "the Canadian Goldsmith." He writes poetry with all the felicity and charm peculiar to the author of "The Deserted Village." Lockhart lives in Maine, but his heart ever yearns for his native "Acadie." His poetry has a simplicity, beauty and repose all its own. It reflects a soul full of faith and hope and love. Like the late Dr. Rand, Lockhart's judgments in things literary are very valuable. There is no surge or passion in his work, but the spirit of the true poet hallows all. He is a Millet in his love and idealization of simple rustic scenes, glorifying the common things of life and giving them a new and higher meaning in the vernacular of the soul. William Henry Drummond It is not too much to say that Dr. Drummond, the author of a volume of French Canadian dialect verse bearing the title of The Habitant, is the most popular poet in Canada to-day, and it is well to know that the charming personality of the man and the real merit of his poetic work are worthy of this. Dr. Drummond has done by far the best dialect work in Canada. He has written himself immortally into these French Canadian poems. It requires but little talent to set the foibles of a people to metre, but it calls for genius in touch with the lowly and divine to gather up the spiritual facts in a people's lives, and give these facts such artistic setting that both people and poems will live forever. This certainly Dr. Drummond has done. "Le Vieux Temps" and "How Bateese Came Home" are as fixed in the life and thought of Canada as is the citadel of Quebec. Was ever affection for and love of home and country more beautifully, delicately and tenderly expressed than in the following lines from Drummond's "When Albani Sang": from "When Albani Sang" Dere's rosebush outside on our garden, ev'ry spring it has got new nes', But only wan bluebird is buil' dere, I know her from all de res', An' no matter de far she be flyin' away on de winter tam, Back to her own leetle rosebush she's comin' dere jus' de sam'. We're not de beeg place on our Canton, mebbe cole on de winter, too. But de heart's Canayen on our body, an' dat's warm enough for true. An' w'en AU-ba-nee was got lonesome, for travel all roun' de worl', I hope she'll come home, lak de bluebird, an' again be de Chambly girl! " Theodore Harding Rand The poetic work of the late Theodore Harding Rand is to be found in two volumes, At Minas Basin" and "Song Waves." It is all gold. There is not a weak poem in either book. Like Browning, Dr. Rand was first seer, then singer. At Minas Basin contains sufficient thought for four volumes of verse, and may be justly regarded as one of the rarest and most valuable books of Canadian poetry yet put forth. It is splendid with the purple of thought, it is royal with the richness of color and diction. Mention should be made here of Dr. Rand's admirable volume, A Treasury of Canadian Verse, which had been published but a few weeks before the author's sudden and lamented death in 1900. It is a work displaying rare literary judgment and discrimination, and presents to the reader what may be justly considered as the best representative poems of our Canadian singers, together with an invaluable series of biographical notes on the authors represented in the volume. Dr. Rand had a richly-dowered mind, and all his work, whether critical or creative, was full of thought and suggestiveness. This sonnet reflects to some extent the spirit of his muse : "June" Now weave the winds to music of June's lyre Their bowers of cloud whence odorous blooms are flung Far down the dells and cedarn vales among, — See, lowly plains, sky-touched, to heaven aspire! Now flash the golden robin's plumes with fire. The bobolink is bubbling o'er with song. And leafy trees, Aeolian harps new-strung, Murmur far notes blown from some starry choir. My heart thrills like the wilding sap to flowers. And leaps as a swol'n brook in summer rain Past meadows green to the great sea untold. O month divine, all fresh with falling showers, Waft, waft from open heaven thy balm for pain, Life and sweet Earth are young, God grows not old! Cornelius O'Brien A writer of much grace and finish is Most Rev. Cornelius O'Brien, D.D., Archbishop of Halifax, who is particularly happy in sonnet-building. Mgr. O'Brien's fine poetic work reveals the artist in every line. His chief work in verse is Aminta: A Modern Life Drama. Here is a beautiful sonnet which testifies to the poetic gifts of our poet-prelate: "St. Cecilia" A shell lies silent on a lonely shore ; High rocks and barren stand with frowning brow; Hither no freighted ships e'er turn their prow Their treasures on the fated sand to pour; Afar the white-robed sea-gull loves to soar; But, pure as victim for a nation's vow, A lovely maiden strikes the shell, and now Its music charms and sadness reigns no more. Thus, Christian Poesy, thus on pagan coasts For ages mute had lain thy sacred lyre. Untouched since from the prophet's hand it fell, Till fair Cecilia, taught by angel hosts, Attuned its music to the heavenly choir. And gave a Christian voice to Clio's shell. John Henry Brown John Henry Brown, of Ottawa, is a poet of humanity. He puts a great deal of thought in his work, making the music of his soul vassal to the higher philosophy of life. His volume of verse, entitled Poems Lyrical and Dramatic, appeared in 1892. Arthur Weir The late Arthur Weir was a sweet and true poet. He published in all three volumes of verse. Perhaps the chief characteristics of his work are simplicity and fidelity to truth. His three books of verse bear the titles : Fleur de Lys; The Romance of Sir Richard, sonnets, and other poems; and The Snowflake, and other poems. Arthur Stringer Another young Canadian, Arthur J. Stringer, now a resident of New York, has written some strong and artistic poetry. This gifted writer has been especially successful in sonnet building. Stringer has published three volumes of poems: Watchers of Twilight,Pauline, and other poems, and Epigrams. Arthur O'Neill Father Arthur Barry O'Neill has also struck a very tender and true note in his little volume, Between Whiles. There is much of the simplicity and purity of the poetic genius of Father Faber in this good priest's work. William Kirby There are two poets of the older school — links between the present and the past — who are still with us and whose pens have not yet been laid aside. They are William Kirby, author of " Canadian Idylls," and John Reade, one of the sweetest and truest singers in Canada. Kirby may be regarded as the poet of the United Empire Loyalists, and has celebrated in Wordsworthian verse the glories and goodness of those heroic people. John Reade Reade is a charming sonnet writer, and in this department of literary workmanship may be well classed with Richard Watson Gilder and Maurice Francis Egan. His volume of verse, The Prophecy of Merlin, and Other Poems, is full of merit, and is characterized by beauty of thought, compression and true poetic feeling. Here is his fine sonnet on the occasion of Dr. Frechette's poems being crowned by the French Academy : "To Louis Frechette" O gifted son of our dear land and thine, We joy with thee on this thy joyous day, And in thy laurel crown would fain entwine A modest wreath of our own simple bay ! Shamrock and thistle and sweet roses gay, Both red and white, with parted lips that smile, Like some bright maiden of their native isle — These, with the later maple, take, we pray, To mingle with thy laurelled lily, long Pride of the brave, and theme of poet's song. They err who deem us aliens. Are not we Bretons and Normans, too? North, south and west Gave us, like you, of blood and speech their best, Here, re-united, one great race to be. Celtic poetry Then, again, there is the Irish Canadian note and the Scottish-Canadian note in the poetry of our country. D'Arcy McGee sang like an Irish linnet in exile under Canadian skies. His "Jacques Cartier" remains to-day one of the very best ballads ever written in Canada. J.K. Foran, late editor of the Montreal True Witness, published, in 1895, a volume of poems which entitles him to rank among our gifted Irish Canadian poets. Many of his lyrics in fire and passion are worthy of the poets of the Dublin Nation, whose spirit and method he most closely follows. James B. Dollard A new Celtic note recently added to the choral service of Canadian song is that of Rev. James B. Dollard, of Toronto. His recently published volume, " Irish Mist and Sunshine," is a distinct and valuable contribution to the wealth of Celtic poetry. It is veined with Irish legend, sweet with Irish melody, aflame with Irish patriotism, magical with the spirit and innate deftness that are peculiarly the poetic property of the Celt. Father Dollard by his graceful lyrics and strong ballads has already attracted wide attention on both sides of the Atlantic, and is generally regarded as the best writer of Irish ballads now living. Let this poem, full of mother-love, give a hint of the spirit and method of Father Dollard's poetic work: "On Kenmare Head" Sweet Mother of the Crucified, Be nigh to aid me now. My old eyes view the sad, gray sea Beyond the cliffs high brow; The wide, gray sea that sullenly Beats on the black rocks bare, The while I moan, bereft and lone. On the Head of Old Kenmare. Oh, bitter day I lost for aye The dear ones of my soul! And cruel sea! — 'twixt them and me How broad and bleak you roll! Two graves are lying far away, With none to kneel in pray'r — And I, their mother, weeping here On the Head of Old Kenmare. My Owen left our cabin door A dreary winter day, 'Full quick I'll send ye gold galore The heavy rent to pay.' Mo nuar! 'twas the killing word They sent from over there, — 'He's dying, and his love he sends To those in Old Kenmare.' Then Mary, treasure of my life — How sweet her modest grace ! My timid lamb, she left me, too. The hard world-winds to face. Poor child, her heart was broken soon With all a strange land's care ; They laid her by her brother's side Far, far from Old Kenmare. Now ever to my anguished soul Their dying voices reach; I hear them in the waves that roll And sob along the beach. I listen, and the crooning winds Those last love-whispers bear To me, their mother, waiting lone On the Head of Old Kenmare. Sweet Mother of the Crucified, Thy woes were greater far; To thee an earthly mother prays. Who art the Ocean's Star. Thou, standing by the awful Cross, Oh, strengthen me to bear My sorrow, swelling like the sea By the Head of Old Kenmare. John Stuart Thomson A comparatively new but strong and original voice in the academic groves of Canadian song is that of John Stuart Thomson. His first volume of verse, Estabelle, and Other Poems, published in 1897, won for him immediate recognition among Canadian singers. His second volume, A Day's Song, which has recently appeared, has added much to our young poet's growing fame. Thomson's genius is essentially lyrical, and lyrical of the finest quality. Love and nature are his two chief themes, and he sings of these with a feeling, delicacy and sincerity that mark him as a true poet. His place in Canadian literature will surely be a high one, for he has not yet, measured by years, nearly reached the noontide of his poetic powers. Some of Thomson's best qualities may be found in the following poem : "The Last Watch" The voice of the singer is dumb, Where ye come, Rose-summer sealed up sweet, and none to greet; No throb of the lyre, or the air on fire ; Only the ghost of the spirit of heat. Here all that shall pass have gone by, Gone to die; Both those illumed by song, or dark with wrong ; The murmurs are stilled, as the player willed, Only the pulse of the silence is strong. The call that came out of the east Now has ceased; The lover, who for fame had chose her name, And others of earth, who to sorrow, mirth, Power, gave their lives, find the end is the same. The arms of the night shall take hold Of the old Grim hills before unstirred; without a word Of hope in the gloom, and shall bar the tomb ; Nor from the grave shall a protest be heard. Care, Grief, and the labor of Sin, Ye closed in ; But that which warmed the flute, when it was mute : The sound that had gone, when ye passed it on. Where found ye that? do the wires make a lute? Maritime poets There are yet to be considered a choir of Maritime singers who within recent years have been doing good poetic work. These are: John Frederic Herbin, Francis Sherman, Rev. Arthur Wentworth Hamilton Eaton, Barry Straton and Theodore Roberts. John Frederic Herbin John Frederic Herbin is of Acadian descent, and proves his lineage by the deep and kindly interest he has ever manifested in the fortunes of the Acadian people. His volume of verse, The Marshlands, was published in 1899, and is full of the local color and haunting spirit of the old home of the Acadians. Like many of the Canadian poets, Herbin has done his best work as a sonnet builder. Take this, for instance: "Across the Dykes" The dykes, half bare, are lying in the bath Of quivering sunlight on this Sunday morn ; And bobolinks aflock make sweet the worn Old places, where two centuries of swath Have fallen to earth before the mower's path. Across the dykes the bell's low sound is borne From green Grand-Pre, abundant with the corn, With milk and honey which it always hath! And now I hear the Angelus ring far ; See faith bow many a head that suffered wrong Near all these plains they wrested from the tide The visions of their last great sorrows mar The greenness of these meadows; in the song Of birds I feel a tear that has not dried. Francis Sherman Sherman, who until recently resided in Fredericton, N.B., but is now holding a responsible position in Havana, Cuba, has published two volumes of verse, Matins and In Memorabilia Mortis, a booklet of sonnets. He has an artistic touch, and a good deal of poetic vision. Arthur Wentworth Hamilton Eaton Eaton holds the first place among Canadian ballad writers. He has lived during most of his life in the United States, but nearly all his literary work has a distinctively Canadian flavor. In 1889 appeared his volume of poems, Acadian Legends and Lyrics, which contains the best ballad work as yet done by any Canadian writer. Barry Straton Straton is a kinsman of Charles G. D. Roberts, and has published two volumes of poems: Lays of Love, and Miscellaneous Poems, and The Building of the Bridge: An Idyl of the St. John. His work in verse has a good deal of color and individuality in it. Theodore Roberts Theodore Roberts is a younger brother of Charles G.D. Roberts, poet and novelist, and shares with him the gift of song. His poems, together with those of his brother, William Car- man, and his sister, Elizabeth Roberts-Macdon- ald, were published in 1890 under the title of Lyrics of the Northland. Montreal poetry In Montreal reside two poets who connect us with the past of Canadian literature — George Murray and Carroll Ryan. George Murray Murray is an exquisite writer of either prose or verse, and belongs to that old school of scholarship in which the creative faculty had first place. He has done good work as a writer of Canadian historical ballads, but it is, perhaps, as a translator of the lyrics of the French poets, Gautier, Hugo, De Musset, that Murray stands unique. He is the author of Verses and Versions, published in 1891. Carroll Ryan Ryan has seen a good deal of life as a journalist and soldier. His poetic genius is lyrical, and is Celtic in mode, mood and melody. His muse needs no coaxing, no caressing — it is ever ready for a flight of song. Ryan has published three volumes of poems: "Oscar, and '' other poems, Songs of a Wanderer, and Picture Poems.'' William Wye Smith Rev. William Wye Smith is also a link between the past and the present in Canadian literature. He has written some very admirable poems, such as "The Second Concession of Deer," descriptive of pioneer days in Ontario. His verse has a swing and movement in it which ever harmonizes with the character of the thought. His volume of poems, published in 1888, is entitled Poems. Sarepta A writer of exquisite sonnets was Edward Burrough Brownlow (" Sarepta "), who died in Montreal in 1895. In 1896 the Pen and Pencil Club of Montreal published his poems under the title of Orpheus, and other poems. His sonnet on "The Sonnet" is equal to Wordsworth's, Rossetti's or Gilder's on the same subject. Here it is : "The Sonnet" The sonnet is a diamond flashing round From every facet true rose-colored lights; A gem of thought carved in poetic nights To grace the brow of art by fancy crowned; A miniature of soul wherein are found Marvels of beauty and resplendent sights; A drop of blood with which a lover writes His heart's sad epitaph in its own bound; A pearl gained from dark waters when the deep Rocked in its frenzied passion; the last note Heard from a heaven-saluting skylark's throat; A cascade small flung in a canyon steep, With crystal music. At this shrine of song High priests of poesy have worshipped long. Minor Canadian poets Bernard McEvoy is a writer of breadth and sympathy. His volume of poems, Away from Newspaperdom, and other poems, appeared in 1897. Stuart Livingston has good narrative powers and considerable poetic insight. In 1894 appeared his volume of poems, In Various Moods. William P. McKenzie has published 4 volumes of verse: A Song of Trust, Voices and Undertones, Songs of the Human, and Hearts-ease Hymns, and other verses. His work is characterized by much melody and grace. William Douw Lighthall has published a volume of verse, which bears the title Thoughts, Moods and Ideals. His work has in it a strong patriotic note, and is marked at times by lofty thought. Lighthall also edited "Songs of the Great Dominion," a volume which has done much to make Canadian poets known abroad. Lyman C. Smith is the author of a volume of verse, Mabel Gray, and other poems, containing some very sweet lyrics. Dr. Charles Edwin Jakeway has worked in the historical field of Canada, and in his volume of verse, The Lion and the Lilies: A tale of the conquest; and other poems, he gives a number of historical ballads of a good deal of merit. His longest poem deals with the conquest of Canada by the English. Perhaps the best of his shorter Canadian ballads is "The Capture of Fort Detroit." An erratic and uneven but gifted writer is R.K. Kernighan, known in journalism as "The Khan." He is very human-hearted, and has done some creditable work along the line of simple, homely themes. This poem may be said to represent fairly well the poetic genius of " The Khan " ;"Peepy is Not Dead" "If Peepy had lived," the mother sighed, He'd be of age to day.' She bowed her head as she softly cried — The head that was turning gray. Now one would think that Peepy was dead, Underneath the snow: One would think that Peepy was dead Since seventeen years ago. 'Tis true they hid poor Peepy away, Down in the churchyard green. And ever since that pitiful day Peepy's never been seen. No one has seen his curly head Or heard his laughter flow; But it doesn't follow that Peepy's been dead Since seventeen years ago. They laid his toddling feet to rest; They folded his fingers small Around the lily upon his breast; They laid him away — that's all. They curtained his vacant trundle-bed In his little room of woe; They really thought that Peepy was dead Seventeen years ago. But it wasn't Peepy they put to stay Under the churchyard sod — He's young and gay and strong to-day Up in the realms of God. He walks in the light by the Saviour's side. The Saviour that loved him so; So it's folly to think that Peepy died Seventeen years ago. His form returned to its mother mould, But his soul began to grow — This is the story an angel told, And I'm sure these things are so. Creeds and churches bother my head. But this one thing I know — It isn't true that Peepy's been dead Since seventeen years ago! Gaelic school The minstrelsy of the Scottish Gael is also not unknown in Canada, and is characterized by much sweetness and individuality. Dr. James MacGregor, in his sacred poems and songs; Archibald MacKillop, the blind bard of Quebec; Rev. Dr. Lamont, Marsden, and others, struck a true and lofty note, and are held in honor by their compatriots in the land of the Maple Leaf. A venerable and well-known form for many years in the circle of Canadian poets, and a member of the Royal Society of Canada, was the Gaelic-English poet, Evan MacColl, the "Bard of Lochfyne." MacColl's best work was done in Scotland, but after his arrival in Canada he found time to embalm in verse glints of the beauty which reigns in the heart of Canadian scenery. In memoriam The dead speak not, and so the lyric hearts of Phillips Stewart and George Frederick Cameron no longer charm us with their strong, fresh notes. Both were full of promise, but, like Shelley and Keats, died ere the morning of their years had ripened into full noontide. Canadians will not, however, willingly let die the memory of these two gifted and ardent young souls. Reference cannot be made even passingly to each and all of the Canadian writers of verse who out of the love and wisdom of their hearts have contributed a share to the upbuilding of the literature of Canada. If an attempt were made to tell the story of their labor of love, :Ante diem clause component Vesper Olympo. There is the Honorable Joseph Howe, poet, journalist and statesman; John Talon-Lespe- rance, the polished and scholarly " Laclede '* of the Montreal Gazette; Charles Pelham Mul- vaney, a gifted graduate of Trinity College, Dublin, who composed with equal felicity Eng- lish and Latin verse ; Father Fineas McDonald Dawson, a notable figure for years in Canadian literary circles ; George T. Lanigan, an exceptionally brilliant journalist, who wrote with equal ease and grace English and French verse; Alexander Rae Garvie; and McPherson, the early Nova Scotia singer — these are some of the poetic toilers of the morn, all of whom have passed away. Many otherts Much might be said of many other gifted Canadian singers who have added to the wealth of Canadian poetry but who can find only mention in this paper : Rev. Dr. E.H. Dewart, editor of that valuable work, Selections from the Canadian Poets and author of Songs of Life; Rev. Duncan Anderson, author of Lays of Canada; Francis Blake Crofton, gifted as a prose and verse writer ; Rev. Matthew Richey Knight, author of Poems of Ten Years; Donald McCaig, author of Milestone Moods and Memories; the late Sir James D. Edgar, author of " This Canada of Ours " ; H.K. Cockin, author of Gentleman Dick o' the Grays; Rev. Dr. Withrow, a writer of polished verse and prose ; F.L.D. Waters, author of "The Water Lily"; Rev. B.W. Lockhart, joint author with his brother, Rev. Arthur J. Lockhart, of "A Masque of Minstrels" ; George Martin, author of Marguerite; or, The Isle of Demons; and other Poems; Nicholas Flood Davin, author of Eos: An epic of the dawn; Rev. J.C. Hodgins, author of A Sheaf of Sonnets; William McDonnell, author of the original of the many poems entitled "Beautiful Snow"; H.M. Nickerson, known as "The Fisherman Poet," author of Carols of the Coast; Walter A. Ratcliffe; John Imrie, writer of many sweet and tender songs; A.E.S. Smythe, author of Poems Grave and Gay; Andrew Ramsay, author of The Canadian Lyre; Frank L. Pollock, a promising young poet, now of New York; John E. Logan ("Barry Dane"); John Alliston Currie, author of A Quartette of Lovers; Hugh Cochrane, now a resident of London, England, author of two booklets of verse, Rhyme and Roundelay, and Ideal, and other poems; William Talbot Allison; John MacFarlane, author of Heather and Bluebell: Songs and lyrics; Dr. E.H. Stafford; Charles Dawson Shanly; T.A. Haultain; Isidore E. Ascher; J.R. Wilkinson, author of Canadian Battlefields, and other poems; John William Garvin, whose poems commemorative of the death of Queen Victoria and the accession of Edward VII. are not without considerable merit ; G.W. Grote, who has also written several commemorative odes on the same subject; the late James De Mille, author of a volume of poems entitled Behind the Veil; E.N. Thompson; T.A. Dixon, the author of several dramas ; T.C. Dean; William E. Hunt ("Keppel Strange"), a bright writer on the Montreal Witness, author of Poems and Pastels; K.L. Jones; Robert Reid, author of Moorland Rhymes and Poems, Songs and Sonnets; W.A. Sherwood; Hiram Ladd Spencer, author of 2 volumes of verse of much merit; James Ernest Caldwell, author of Songs of the Pines; H.R.A. Pocock; the late S.J. Watson; the late Sir Daniel Wilson; and Rev. R.W. Wright, author of The Dream of Columbus. Women poets Nothing can be said in this paper of the sweet sopranos in our groves, as the character of their contribution to Canadian poetry is so distinct and important as to merit a separate study. In a subsequent paper will be found consideration of their work in prose and verse, under the title of Canadian Women Writers. The future It is well to know, too, that the glory of Canada's achievement in letters is yet in the future; that while the twilight of eve is gradually but surely shading the literary firmament of other lands, Canadian skies are rosy with the promise of the morn! Not yet, it is true, has come our Canadian Longfellow, our Canadian Tennyson, or our Canadian Browning. When he does appear he shall come dowered with the fullest gift of song, and shall catch up in that song something of the sublimity of our mountains, the azure of our Canadian skies, the light and glow of our Northern Star — something of the sweep and dash of our mighty rivers, the music and murmur of our blossoming prairies, the honest manhood of our marts and farms, the strong virtues of our homes and firesides, the tenderness of our mothers' prayers, the sweetness and purity of our maidens' hearts! Category:Canadian poets